


Sex and Death

by misslonelyhearts



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Established, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslonelyhearts/pseuds/misslonelyhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for flutiebear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Death

“What if I never wake up?”

Carver pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, and tries to hold on to the unraveling heat in his balls.  Merrill doesn’t stop, though.  She twitches around him, above him, urging with her thighs and the broken whimpers in the back of her throat.

“What?  Merrill . . .w-what?”  He lifts himself to see her better, more than just the underside of her chin, and the ghostly shadows snaking beneath her breasts.  When she rises and falls again, still lost in thought, Carver puts his arms around her back and holds her still. 

“If we fall asleep, and I never wake up again.  What would that be like?”  The worst part isn’t the utter morbidity of it.  For him, the worst part, and all the tangled up reasons why he can’t get enough of her, is how her voice is silvery with delight.  Merrill looks down at him, slowly raking her nails up and over his scalp, and is the opposite of sad.  Carver’s head drops against her chest, confused, hot breath flowing over sticky skin.  Maker help him, not even this can stop him bucking.  If anything it makes him harder, and what is _that_ about?

“This is what you think about?  Now?” 

She nods, tilting her head.  _Of course_ , the gesture says, _doesn’t everyone_?

So, he lets her smile goad him, half consumed by her own teeth as she bites her lip, and Carver picks up the pace.  They make a decent rhythm together, but he can’t shake the question, even as he comes.  It’s the strangest way to get off, and Carver doesn’t know how he manages, in the blistering moment before release, not to think of Merrill lying cold and gray beside him. 

She finishes quietly, with her own fingers doing the work he’s neglected in his distraction.  Silence is so unlike her, and he hooks a hand behind her neck to bring her down.

“Is it the afterlife you’re worried about?” He pushes this out against her throat, between salty kisses. 

Merrill’s fingers creep into his mouth, and she watches solemnly as his tongue worships each one.

“Oh, no!  I know where I’ll be going.”  This, too, lacks any of the chill or fear Carver might expect from the subject.  But she’s not done destroying him, and building him back up again the way she always does.  “I only meant for you.  What would it be like for you?  Would you scream?  Would you wrap me up in any old thing?  I think you would be terribly sad, especially if we’d spent the whole night fucking, and you woke up to find me. . .“

Carver groans, dropping back on the pillow, and watches the light cast by the fireplace stutter across the ceiling. 

Nothing in the world is like this, he thinks, and rotates the heels of his hands against his eyeballs.  For once he’s in on something, and everyone else is missing out. Merrill continues, touching his chest as she describes the funerary rites of the Dalish. 

When her crafty hand wraps around the length of him, soft and still tacky, Carver wants to laugh hysterically.  Not because she is strange or ridiculous or inappropriate.  No, mostly he can’t quell the bloom of laughter in his throat because as she bends over him -- working and licking, and making brilliant use of foreskin and spit, and the secretive chamber of her throat where it captures her voice – Merrill makes him hard with the quality of her mind.

“Hello, da’mi!”  She pokes the tip of his stiffening cock, and looks at Carver through the fall of hair and braids.  “I thought you didn’t like me talking about death?”


End file.
